


The Boy Who Lives with The Hermit

by Alexleetx



Category: Bleach, Vampire Knight (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, How Do I Tag, Kiryuu Ichiru ended up in soul society, No bleach characters just ichiru and zero in the bleach universe forgive me i could not resist, Oneshot, Other, how the twins reunited, no beta we die like men, vampire knight and bleach crossover, would anyone read tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexleetx/pseuds/Alexleetx
Summary: Old Man Shu named him Ichiei. Why? Because he really had no memories when he was first found- completely blank. The only thing he knew was his name was Ichi-something. So Old Man Shu took one look at him and declared that he feels like an Ichiei. Fine- he’d take Ichiei because imagine if Shu decided on a lame one like Ichibe, or worse, Ichika. He shuddered.Ichiru ended up in rural Rokungai after his death.
Relationships: Kiryuu Ichiru/Kiryuu Zero
Comments: 14
Kudos: 34





	The Boy Who Lives with The Hermit

Daylight came slow and gloomy, it was going to be another of those days where the air would be heavy and miserable. He sighed tiredly, he was soaked to the bones. The sky was still gray, and low but the rain had eased to a drizzle, the bitter cold wrapped around him, seeping through the tattered, scratchy material of his dark brown kimono.

He walked off the trail, moving under the cover of some trees, and looked behind at the back track, at the ridge in the distance, shut off by mist. He stood still and felt tiredness pulling on him like a weight, trying to drag him down to the mud slopped earth. He set the burden on his back not too gently onto the ground and unwrapped a roasted quail and tore a tiny leg and thigh off. It wasn’t much but hungry as he was, he munched on it, sucked the bones clean. Then he wrapped the rest of the meat in the rags and stuffed it back into the sack. Old Man Shu would be pissed if wasted any more time and end up coming home too late. The wrinkly old hermit had sent him off to the village at the foot of the mountain, at the crack of dawn to sell some dried herbs and salves. They needed a new kitchen knife and Shu’s ointments were good enough to fetch good prices at the apothecary.

Old Man Shu was a shriveled, grumpy man, with an outwardly bullying manner, which concealed a kindhearted enigma underneath. He had come to live with the reclusive old coot about five years ago in his hill cottage deep in the mountains. He wouldn’t call it a cottage per se, it was more of a single roomed hut built into a hillside with three walls of wood and one wall of dirt. Old Man Shu said he found him unconscious by the creek not far from his home about to be eaten by hollows. The old man was formidable with his sword- he saved him. That was what he was told at least because he had no memory of it.

Old Man Shu named him Ichiei. Why? Because he really had no memories when he was first found- completely blank. The only thing he knew was his name was Ichi-something. So Old Man Shu took one look at him and declared that he feels like an Ichiei. Fine- he’d take Ichiei because imagine if Shu decided on a lame one like Ichibe, or worse, Ichika. He shuddered. 

Ah yes, the hollows. They were very dangerous, those monstrous things with white bone masks and armour. Sometimes they were as small as a deer and sometimes they were taller than the trees. According to Old Man Shu, hollows were corrupt spirits which devoured souls because they were hungry to fill the void in them. It astonished him how much Old Man Shu knows. But it astonished Shu more when he didn’t cower or tremble before those things. He felt like he lived with monsters before. Mindless monsters were not as scary as highly intelligent, cunning ones. How did he know? He just knew. No memories, remember?

Strangely, the hollows sure like to show up around Old Man Shu’s cottage and the old coot blamed it on him. They were all dead souls in this world, Shu explained, but some are stronger than others, like Ichiei, so the hollows came because his silver haired ass would make a delicious hollow snack. Although he begged to differ, looking at his scrawny but gangly frame, his too pale skin, silver hair, and his borderline girly face, there was nothing that screamed ‘strong’ about him. But there were telling traits of his physique that were attributed to a fighter, said Shu. Though he was a bit skinny, he was lean muscled and had quick reflexes. The calluses on his hands suggested that he had been handling weapons in his old life and Old Man Shu was too eager to test out which.

He kept to the side of the trail now, in the cover of the wooded ridges. By the looks of the sunless sky, it would be noon soon. He’d better hurry because Shu would make it an excuse to punish him if he screws up. By punishing means obliging the insane geezer in hours of sword fighting. Not that he minded, he was surprisingly good at it and was able to give Shu good matches but the bloodthirsty look on Shu’s face gave him the chills. What the hell was up with that murderous old prune? Worse, Shu fought dirty. His sword strikes were combined with sneaky kicks and punches. Shu may look like he was a century pickled plum but never let his appearance fool you. The only hope he had in winning over Shu was outlasting the geezer’s stamina. Well, Shu was old and he, Ichiei looked like a boy in his mid to late teens so there was an advantage there.

  
And one more thing, Old Man Shu has a bad habit of talking too much while fighting. He liked to pause and babble long monologues about strength and techniques. He won over Shu five times because he attacked Shu while the geezer was busy spewing nonsense. ‘A bad habit is a bad habit and you’re never too old to correct one,’ he tried to give Shu sound advice but frighteningly, Shu throttled him so hard for being a ‘smartass-know-it-all’. So he never advised Shu on anything anymore. 

“You fight like a pansy nobleman, foolish Ichiei!” Old Man Shu roared one day as he landed a hit on his sword hand, twisted the blade and swept it up his arm and finished him with a vicious punch to the jaw. If it was a real blade, he would have been flayed like a fish. Practice swords still caused bruises and broken bones. But Old Man Shu always healed him with his glowing green palms. Shu said the freaky but neat skill was called Kaidō. 

The world he was in now measures one’s strength based on their Reiryoku or spiritual sensitivity. It had made little sense to him in the beginning. There was some kind of pressuring energy that emitted from Shu when they practice-fought, and especially when he went against the hollows but most of the time Shu kept it under wraps. Shu said whoever had high level of Reiryouko have to eat more than others and that was why he, Ichiei, had an appetite similar to a pig. Oh yeah? Well, actually Shu ate as much as he did, maybe more. That means, they were both pigs, Ichiei declared, making Shu laugh so hard he almost burst some of his clunky blood vessels. 

Shu taught him some Kaidō because according to him, ‘little Ichiei is a clumsy pot who bruises easily like a peach’ so he needed to learn how to self mend. And of course the diabolical demon of a teacher forced him to learn how to suppress his Reiatsu because the geezer was tired of fighting hollows. He agreed because he was tired of repairing the cottage. Sometimes, the hollow attacks ended up damaging property. During the early years, Shu made him wear a Reiatsu limiter but the design of the Sekkiseki stone bracelet was too girly. He worked his ass off and finally shucked the thing away as soon as Shu passed him as decent.

His damp clothes chilled against his skin as the wind blew. Goosebumps ran across the muscles of his chest and back, toes freezing and unless he kept his jaw clenched, his teeth set up a fine clicking. There was no help for it though, Old Man Shu told him to bring along the umbrella but he refused. The old man needed it more than him, his lung rattling coughs gets worse when it rains or snow too much.

Now he could see chimney smoke rising beyond the treetops. That means he was close to the village. He started angling down the long slope. One thing Old Man Shu was thankful for when he had ‘little Ichiei’ up in the mountains was there was no need for him to torture his bones to go up and down the mountains just to get supplies or sell things anymore. They went together during his first year because Old Man Shu said he was too stupid to survive without him. It was merely Shu’s way to introduce Ichiei to the village folks and teach him the ropes. He had a feeling his old life was a world different than this one because Shu was right; he knew next to nothing. Everything screamed dated and primitive to him.

“Ichiei!” A voice called out when he passed the village gate. He turned. It was Koji, an ever smiling, pipe smoking man- a _shinigami_ . The dark haired man had one hand tucked in the front of his black _shihakusho_ , lazily scratching his stomach. His sword hung loosely from his waist. 

He inclined his head at Koji, finding comfort in the weight of the sack on his back. Old Man Shu told him to be careful with shinigamis. They were bullies who loved to test out their strength and enjoyed pointless bloodshed, he said. So he smiled civilly at Koji, hoping the shinigami would let him go about his business: get to the apochery and then hurry to the blacksmith. 

“I haven’t seen Old Shu lately, how’s your grandpa?” Koji’s voice was loud.

“He’s doing well for a man his age, Koji-san.”

“Aw, good!” Koji slung an overly friendly arm around his shoulder- they were far from friends. Koji was the shinigami assigned to this northern end of West Rokungai from Seretei. Shu told him shinigamis like Koji was too incompetent to serve in the gotei so central threw him there. Whatever, a Zanpakutō is a sword and a sword is dangerous. Shu has one too but he only used it to kill the hollows. If an old hermit who lives in the mountains has one, it must not be so special after all. Shu somehow hated the shinigamis, he didn’t ask why. Why make Old Man Shu upset, he’ll lose more hair off his balding scalp.

“It’s nice to see you Koji-san but I have to go sell Shu’s herbs quickly because I need to go back before dark,” he said politely, smiling still.

“Oh, my bad, Ichiei-kun,” exclaimed Koji as he retracted his arm. But suddenly, Koji grabbed him by the chin and turned his face from side to side. The action annoyed as much as it confuses him but he didn’t resist a man who had a weapon, the only thing he had on him was an eight-inch long serrated knife Shu gave him for hunting and food gathering. He glared at Koji nevertheless. Smiling sheepishly, Koji released him, eyes glinting. “Say Ichiei-kun, have you been to Asao-san’s stall at the market lately?”

“The travelling merchant? No. Is he back?” Asao was usually interested in buying a jar or two of Shu’s more expensive ointments. They are great for minor injuries but those don't sell well at the apothecary. The merchant was known to have encountered bandits along his trade routes.

“Yeah. I think you should check out his stall before you go back to Shu’s.”

He gave the man a curt bow and excused himself, “I will Koji-san, thank you.”

He then quickly made his way to the apothecary, walking hurriedly past familiar villagers. Usually they greeted him neutrally but today, they were looking at him curiously. Perhaps his nerves showed and he was getting hungry again. Shu warned him to never eat in the presence of others but never explained why. Most probably Shu was paranoid someone might poison him. Silly old Shu. He ignored the stares.

When he arrived at the wooden shop, the owner, Goro-sensei was out. His daughter, Setsuna was there instead. He liked her because Setsuna was a young woman, a young woman usually likes him and when they like him, they would buy more. Setsuna beamed when he complimented the new silk ribbon she wove in her hair. Pay close attention, he complimented the ribbon, not Setsuna but she couldn’t tell the difference. Oh, dear.

They launched into their usual banter, Setsuna batted her lashes asking him to lower the price of the Echinacea root and the dried Slippery Elm powder. He simply told her that Shu would grill him over slow fire and she would never see his pretty hide again if she haggled any lower.

Setsuna was not conventionally pretty: petite but plump, her freckles clashed badly with her red hair but her sharp green eyes were ones of a shrewd businesswoman. She pursed her thin lips and said, “Hah, that’s where you’re wrong, Ichiei-kun. You’re not the sole flower-boy eye-candy in this little hovel anymore.”

Old Man Shu often warned him of the females, they were complex cretins impossible to be deciphered by men. If he was any other person, he would gape at Setsuna’s sexist remark but he’s not ordinary so he raised a silver eyebrow at her and asked, “What do you mean, Setsuna-san?”

Setsuna harrumphed, giving him the cold shoulder instead of answering. Grudgingly, she bought all of the herbs and the lower grade salves. He was left with four jars of Shu’s expensive ointments. Looks like he would have to be extra assertive with Asao-san later. He pocketed the money and headed to the blacksmith. 

Toru was unexpectedly too happy to see him. Well, this was one of Shu’s old friends. Sometimes Toru boasted how men like him and Shu were too great to perish in the old war. He merely smiled and listened politely to the tales of great shinigamis and gods. He believed Toru because how else would someone as built as the blacksmith lose an eye. The flesh over the vacant socket winked grotesquely because the man refused to wear an eyepatch. Toru gave him a discount for the simple, wooden handled kitchen knife he chose. He thanked the grizzly blacksmith earnestly and watched the scarred face flush. That was off, but who cares? It was a steal!

He was about to leave when suddenly Toru’s name was called aloud.

“Oi, Asao! I finished that sword two days ago. Why didn’t you come sooner? Iron is not cheap, you stingy bastard,” answered Toru.

“Maa… maa… What’s the rush Toru?” Asao chuckled good naturedly, hobbling on his wooden leg towards the smithy. The merchant saw him and grinned giddily. He wondered what is up with these people today. “Ichiei, my boy. Do you have any of Shu’s lovely ointment in that sack of yours? Please don’t tell me you sold everything to that greedy ol’ Goro. He sells them double.”

“It has been a while, Asao-san,” he said pleasantly, giving his regular a respectful bow. “You’re in luck because Setsuna didn’t buy them so I have four.”

“Lucky~ I want all four,” Asao clapped his hands together and reached for his money pouch. Despite his wooden leg, Asao was a florid man, a flamboyant travelling merchant who traveled throughout Rokungai selling everything from picture scrolls, colourful fabrics to pots and pans. However he always came back to the village by the end of autumn and stayed all winter.

“Hey, Asao. Don’t spend all of your money on your beauty cream. You still have to pay for the sword,” warned Toru. 

“Come on Toru, there’s enough for everyone. I made good business in _Inuzuri_.”

“Inuzuri in the south? How are you not dead?” asked Toru. 

“Toru, you’re so mean. I do have guards and recently I’ve recruited a new one while I was there. A very capable young fellow, I might say. Saved me a lot from bandit trouble,” boasted Asao as he handed the money for the ointments to him. He paid the usual price- good enough. Shu would be pleased.

“You- bagged a competent fighter? As if I believe you. Your guards are usually all bark and no bite. You hire people who looked like bandits themselves,” Toru snorted derisively. “Don’t tell me it’s the pretty boy you commissioned that sword for- I thought he was your newest paramour.”

“Oh, how dare you accuse me so, To-chan. You know my taste doesn't run towards delicate looking boys. I prefer to be the beauty and not the beast in a relationship.” Asao said playfully and cackled when Toru paled.

Ichiei shook his head, careful not to laugh because it would be rude to enjoy Toru’s suffering. He quietly arranged the four jars of ointment beside Toru’s wares. Asao should know how to bring them back later.

“Where’s the boy?” Toru asked, looking around.

“He should be here shortly,” Asao said, wearing a curious look on his face. “You see Toru, I always wondered why strapping young men like Ichiei and my new guard stayed with decrepit old men like Shu and I instead of enrolling in the Shinōreijutsuin. Seriously, it’s a waste of talent.”

“Shinōreijutsuin- what is that?” He truly didn’t know. The look on both Asao and Toru can only be described with one word- gobsmacked. 

“Old Shu has been teaching you healing Kidō and you don’t know of the shinigami academy- that’s rich. I thought Shu was preparing you to enroll,” said Asao, scandalized.

“I’m very sure that I don’t want to be a shinigami,” he replied flatly.

“That was exactly what that boy said to me too, what a waste of talent,” mumbled Asao. “Maybe it’s how silver haired people think. You know my newest employee actually begged me to hire him even if I pay him peanuts merely because I told him that he looked very similar to a silver haired, hermit-boy in my home-village,” added Asao mysteriously.

Toru scowled at him after hearing Asao’s words, “Hn, yeah... Now that you say it, they do look very much alike.” 

“Ah, look there he is- Zenji-kun!” Asao called out to a boy who was standing frozen under a blossom tree nearby. His silver hair fluttering in the wind, covering his eyes.

There was an unexplainable lump forming in Ichiei’s throat when he saw an ugly black tattoo inked on the left side of the boy’s neck. He felt it was his fault it was there. How? Why? He had never seen the boy before- this doppelgänger of his.

With every step Zenji took towards him, he felt something akin to hot, sinewy tendrils coiling and constricting tighter and tighter around his heart. 

This boy was familiar. That sakura blossom tree should be blooming. That grey kimono on him looked wrong. 

_Tinkle_.

A tinny sound of a bell.

The phantom smell of gunpowder.

The boy’s eyes were of the same shade of lavender as his own and there was a storm of emotions clashing behind those magnetic orbs: relief, longing, hate and love. 

He heard Asao’s voice calling out to them but he couldn’t move, like a mouse entranced by a deadly cobra. The air around them stilled.

“Ichiru…” 

The boy, Zenji, had his name wrong, but strangely, why couldn’t he stop his tears from falling?

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this real quick for fun in the middle of working on a Vampire Knight story. So ignore my mistakes. I wonder if anybody reads crossovers.  
> (￣^￣)ゞ
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
